


Danny Boy

by orphan_account



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 1910s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1910s, Alternate Universe - War, Alternate Universe - World War I, Army, Character Death, Death, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad, Sad Ending, Smut, Songfic, World War I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 09:52:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13292340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: (Based off of Danny Boy by BYU Vocal Point)Phil gets drafted into the war and meets a boy who looks like he shouldn't be enlisting.





	Danny Boy

_January 30, 1916_

Phil was celebrating his 23rd birthday when he got the letter.

 

“ _To whom it may concern:_

_Due to the Military Service Act of 1916, we provide unmarried men and widowers without children ages 18 to 41 the choice of between one of three of the following by March 2._

 

  1. __Enlist at once.__
  2. _Attest at once under Derby’s system._
  3. _Or on 2 March 1916 be automatically deem to have enlisted._



 

_We wish you good luck in any path you wish to choose.”_

 

Phil glanced up at his mother who was leaning over him, still reading the letter resting on the kitchen table. Phil’s mother finished and cast a pitiful look towards him, knowing he had no choice but to enlist. It was a tragedy for many reasons. One of them being her eldest son, Martyn, had already volunteered to join the war in late 1914, leaving her no children at home, and another was that she felt as if this was her birthday gift to Phil.

 

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Lester said. “Just bad timing, I suppose.” Her sad eyes left his and directed towards the birthday dinner cooking on the stove.

 

“It’s quite alright,” he pushed the letter farther away from him as if it would somehow lessen the effect it had on him. “I knew this was bound to come to me somehow. It’s not your fault.” Phil stood up from the chair he sat in and walked over to hug his mother.

 

It wasn’t alright. As Phil felt his mother’s arm wrap around him, he knew it wasn’t alright. She would be left alone in this house. She would be a widow wondering, worrying if her sons were going to die. Phil already worried along with her: Martyn had not written back since his departure, but at the same time they did not receive a letter declaring his death. That was the worst thing about war. The worst thing was never knowing.

 

“Well,” Mrs. Lester said after pulling away from their embrace. “You must enlist now, better to do it yourself than have them do it for you.”

 

“Yes, that’s true. I’ll be back before the dinner is finished.” Phil grabbed his coat and headed toward the front door.

 

It was snowing. It somehow felt like it always snowed on his birthday. The trees surrounding his family’s farm were bare and framed with the freshly fallen snow, as Phil could see through his visible breath that formed in front of him. He turned to look at his house. Once full of life, —once housing him and his brother and his father— the small brick farmhouse stood in the falling snow without shining through it. There were no slivers of light peeking through the curtains. Instead, his mother’s tired face appeared behind the frosted window, with it bringing a fragile hand that waved him goodbye and then disappeared. The snow seemed to avoid that particular window.

  


Phil stood in the mud-tracked line full of mostly young farm boys like himself waiting to sign up for something they wanted no part in. There were a few older men as well, with pepper-dusted hair and crows feet that made Phil wonder if his father would have looked like that if he were still around. The boys, however, presented with a small amount of lean muscle that indicated they were, in fact, the farm boys of rural England. Phil kept his cold hands inside his coat pockets and eyed the furnace burning the remaining coal. They would have to keep that on all day if they wanted to stay warm. While Phil stared into the flames of the small furnace, a body came to block his view. It was, in turn, equally as small. The owner of the body would just be a kid, right? Phil glanced at the owner’s face and, to his surprise, found a young man’s glazed with the furnace’s orange light.

 

Even if Phil knew this person was a young man, he knew he couldn’t have been more than eighteen. A farm boy, just like the rest—just like himself—, who proved to be quite a bit smaller than the average and almost unfit to enlist. He was out of place.

 

“Hello,” Phil called to the boy. “Quite cold in here, don’t you think?”

 

Startled, the boy’s wide eyes shot up to the voice directed at him.

 

“Yes,” he answered once he processed the question. “That’s why I’m close to the furnace.”

 

Phil knew that’s why he was there, of course, he just didn’t know why he wanted to talk to him. He supposed it was just to make conversation while he waited in the line.

 

“I’m aware. Don’t you think you’re shielding the warmth from everyone else?” He hadn’t meant that to sound arrogant, he really hadn’t, but it was a valid question.

 

In turn, the boy stepped away from the furnace and freed the heat trapped behind the small thief.

 

“Thank you,” Phil said genuinely. “You’re here to enlist, right?”

 

“Yes,” the sheepish boy replied. “Though I wish that wasn’t the case.”

 

“As do I, and everyone else here. But that’s just the price for freedom,” Phil paused. “How old are you?”

 

“Eighteen,” a correct guess from Phil, “but I’ll be nineteen in June. You?”

 

“Twenty-three, but I’ll be twenty-four a year from today.”

 

It took a few beats for the boy to realize. “Well, that’s a shame,” was all he said.

 

“I’m Phil,” he outstretched his cold hand to meet the boy’s very warm, very soft one.

 

“Howell.”

 

“What’s your first name?” Phil asked, confused as to why he only gave his surname.

 

“Daniel, but you can call me Dan, if you’d like.”

 

“Can I call you Danny?” Phil paired with a short laugh, and Dan looked unamused.

 

Daniel had what one would call a babyface. It wasn’t necessarily round, but it had a certain youthfulness paired with soft, warm, brown eyes that made Phil feel obligated to protect from the evils of the world. His eyes matched his hair, which he sported as a undercut with a mop of curly brown locks on top of his head. It all seemed to match. Everything was a soft, warm, brown shade that was only amplified by the dim, orange light from the furnace.

 

Meanwhile, Phil felt like he was the complimentary, or opposite, of Dan. Phil had a jet black straight cut which he styled into a rough quiff. It contrasted against his untanned and pale skin (uncommon for a farm boy), sharp cheekbones and jawline,  and cold blue eyes. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew the bright light from outside illuminated him in the most unflattering way; he was nowhere near the orange light of the furnace but closer to the reflective blue of winter. This boy and everything about him screamed beacon of warmth and safety. However, Phil felt as if he had to give that to Dan himself, as if Dan was only sharing his gift with the outside world.

 

Phil’s turn finally came, and he began to fill out the form in front of him while Dan stood behind him, still radiating the warmth from before.

 

When he finished, he turned to face Dan, whose face now contained what Phil recognized as fear.

 

“There’s really nothing to fear, Danny,” Phil donned a smile. “It’s just a piece of paper.”

  


Phil returned to find his home containing none of the warmth Daniel provided the small building previously. Yes, his mother had some of the warmth Phil craved, but it wasn’t the same.

 

“How was it?” Mrs. Lester asked as she turned in the chair to face her son.

 

“Fine,” Phil answered and considered mentioning Dan but decided against it.

 

They ate in silence with the same looming fear above them the whole time, as each snowflake brought its own version of it as it came down on their home.

 

“When do you leave?” His mother asked once she finished. The fear that loomed above them seeped from the question once the words left her mouth.

 

“I’m not sure what day exactly, but I know training starts in the summer.”

 

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed. At least they still had a bit of time together before he left. Phil hoped Dan had a mother and a father and maybe even a sibling to be with until he left as well.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is shirosmith


End file.
